Boot Camp
by zombiezebra
Summary: Max's dad died when she was nine and they moved to get away from the memories. She didn't get along with anyone at her new school, and now, eight years later, she still doesn't. She's always getting into fights and her grades are dropping. So, her mom, Dr. M, sends her to boot camp where she, of course, meets The Flock.
1. Chapter 1

**BTW: no wings and max and company are 17 and juniors in high school, except Ella who is 16 and a sophomore.**

Chapter 1:

"MAXIMUM RIDE!" Mom's voice yells from the kitchen as I step through the front door.

Crap. She sounds pissed. Really pissed. _Way to state the obvious, Max._

The office has gotten a lot faster. Back when I first started high school, she wouldn't get the call until the next day. Probably because back then it didn't seem like such a big deal, everyone assuming it was just a phase I was going through, that everything would blow over and soon I'd fit right in. Now the call from the office was a part of my daily routine.

I hear angry, stomping footsteps, and in walks my mother. Her curly brown hair is sticking out of its ponytail in places, and her usually tan face is red with anger. The expression on her face is not her usual disapproving scowl. It is pure anger. She practically has smoke coming out of her ears.

"Hey, mom. Are you ok? You look a little red."

"Maximum! What is this?" She practically shoves the paper at me.

Confused, I take it from her, slowly reading it. When I realize what it is, I have a mini heart attack.

It's my report card. And right next to _Science _is a big fat _D_. **(A/N I suck at science. It's one of my least favorite subjects. I don't know how I managed to pass it, but I did. Although, I panicked when I took the final because I didn't study and forgot my calculator. So I guessed on 80% of the questions and did all the math by hand. When I finally finished I only had like one minute left. It SUCKED!)**

Well, crap.

Originally, I had thought that the school had called her. I forgot about my report card. But at least she didn't get the call. Though I'm not sure which is worse.

"Oh, I got another call from the school today, too."

#$! %^&! She _did_ get the call! _And_ the report card! I am dead. I am so dead.

I hand the paper back to her. She snatches it, her scowl now firmly in place. "Go do your homework. We will discuss this at dinner."

I turn to the left and run up the stairs. When I get to my room I quickly open the door, chucking my back pack in. Then I continue to Ella's room, right next to mine.I don't knock. I just walk in and flop onto her bed face down.

"Get in another fight?" I hear her say from the other side of the room.

"Mhmm," I mutter, my face buried in her pillow.

"The office called?"

"Mhmm."

I sit up, criss cross applesauce. I sigh. "Apparently report cards came today, too."

Ella's facing away from me, straightening her long brown hair from a stool in front of her mirror. I see her face through the mirror and she winces.

"Was it bad?" she asks.

I sigh. "I got a D in Science."

"Is that it?"

"I don't know. I was freaking out. I didn't look at any of my other grades, but I have no doubt that Math won't be much better."

She sets the straightener down on the edge of her dresser, unplugging it. She turns around. "So, what was the fight about this time?"

"Ugh!" I fall back onto her bed and stare up at her poppcorny white ceiling. I hear her soft footsteps and the bed sinks.

"Just Lissa being Lissa," I say. "Sam broke up with her, so she was in an especially _horrible_ mood. And that's saying something, because I didn't think she could get much worse. She thinks she's all that and a bag of chips. **(A/N love that saying) **But she was extremely annoying today, to say the least. I almost snapped a couple times, but I held it together until…"

_I walk through the cafeteria double doors and start to weave through tables, heading to an empty one in the far corner._

_Suddenly, something bumps me from the side. I stumble to the left. I right myself and look up to see a brown haired girl in a pink sweater and black rimmed glasses clutching her lunch tray._

"_Sorry," she mumbles looking down, before scurrying ahead. She doesn't get more than a few feet though, because as she's passing by the next table, which just so happens to be the populars' table, she trips over one of Lissa's strappy red heels that was sticking out in the aisle. Lissa stands up, hands on her hips, trying to intimidate the girl._

"_Watch where you're going!" she snaps_, _scowling. Then her scowl disappears, and she laughs. It is a harsh, mean laugh. "You have tomato sauce _all_ over."  
The girl blushes and looks down. Sure enough, she landed on her lunch tray, and her sweater is covered in tomato sauce from her spaghetti. Her face is partially covered in sauce as well._

"_Though I have to admit," Lissa continues. "It's an improvement." Her groupies snicker._

_The girl blushes harder and I see tears start to gather in her eyes._

"_Maybe you could use some tomato sauce Lissa," I say. I can't help it. It just slips out._

_Lissa turns to me. "Excuse me?" She narrows her eyes at me._

_The girl gets up and runs off while Lissa's distracted._

"_Well, you said tomato sauce improves things. I was just thinking maybe we could use it to get rid of those horribly short skirts you're always wearing. Or that nauseatingly bright red hair." I smirk._

"_Everybody loves my hair!" she shrieks, walking towards me. "And don't talk to me that way! Who do you think you are?" She pushes my shoulder on the word "you", her pink manicured nails stabbing my shoulder. "Besides," she curls her lip cruelly. "If we're going to fix anything it should be your face."_

_I narrow my eyes, and my hands ball into fists. "Oh, I don't know about that. You should be more concerned about your nose. It's probably broken."_

_She looks confused, her tiny brain trying to figure that one out._

_That's when I punch her._

_She cries out and stumbles back, arms pin-wheeling, slipping all over the place in her tractionless heels. She falls back, straight into the middle of the populars' lunch table. The table skids to the side slightly, but otherwise stays in place. The populars shriek and stumble away from the table. Lissa falls onto the floor, right on her butt, taking multiple lunch trays with her and splattering everyone within a 5 foot radius with nasty cafeteria spaghetti and chocolate pudding._

"… and then, of course, it turned into a _massive_ food fight. And who do you think they blamed for starting the food fight? Moi, of course." I sigh, pulling myself into a sitting position. "So I got detention for a month for punching Lissa _and_ for the food fight. The food fight that _I didn't start_!"

"She was really mad when I got home earlier. I don't know what she's going to do, but I don't think you're getting grounded this time," Ella says.

She's probably right. Normally I would have already been grounded by now.

"Max! Ella! Dinner's ready!"

_Maybe it won't be so bad_, I think as I get up walk out Ella's door, heading to my doom.

I sit down at the table and we eat in silence. Tense, awkward silence.

Finally, my mother speaks. "You're not grounded," she says.

"I'm… not?"

"No," she says. "I have something better."

Oh no.

"Boot camp."


	2. Chapter 2

**To those who reviewed: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!**

**Sorry it took so long for me to update.**

"WHAT?" I shout, standing abruptly.

"Boot camp," Mom repeats. "Teen Disciplinary Camp of Colorado, to be exact. It's-"

"No!"

She sighs. "Max, it'll be good for you."

"No! I'm not going!"

"Max, you're always getting into fights, your grades are dropping. Every day I ask how your guys' days were and it's always the same with you Max! 'It was school.' I don't know what to do with you!" She sighs again. "Maybe you just need to get away. Maybe you need discipline. I don't know what you need because you don't tell me! Maybe this is what you need!"

"No," I say through clenched teeth.

"Max-"

"Mom, I'm fine. I don't need _anything_! I'm fine!"

Her face goes from pleading to angry in an instant. "No, you're not. You are going to that camp and that is final. Go pack."

"Mom-"

"Now!"

Guess I know where I got my stubbornness from

_Stupid mom_, I think, pulling open my top dresser drawer with more force than necessary. I grab a handful of clothes.

_Stupid Lissa_. I throw the clothes into the duffel on my bed. I grab another handful and toss it in as well.

_Stupid boot camp!_ I slam the drawer, rocking the dresser.

I move on to the next drawer, grabbing random things and tossing them into my bag.

This is going to take forever.

I pull the drawer out, dumping everything into the duffel. I put the drawer back in, then take the next one out and fling those clothes at my duffel. I put that drawer back and turn around to zip my bag.

There's only one problem though, the clothes are sticking up about a half a foot out of the bag. There's no way everything will fit.

Hmmmm. Maybe I should fold them? I snort. Nah.

I'll just have to _make_ them fit.

I try to push the clothes down with both my hands, but of course that doesn't work. That never works.

Next, I try the classic sit-on-the-suitcase move, but my legs get in the way, and the clothes won't stay down anyway.

Then, I try to use one arm to hold down the clothes while I zip the bag with my other hand. This seems to be the best way to do it. At least that's what I think right before the zipper gets stuck and I lean over to fix it, and when I finally get it un-stuck, I'm not paying much attention and I zip up a piece of my shirt.

Five minutes later, I'm frustrated, my eyes are bugging out from looking at nothing but the zipper for so long, and my back aches like I'm an 80 year old granny from leaning over the zipper. I glare at the stupid zipper, growling curses under my breath as I zip it back and forth aggressively. I sigh in defeat and slump down onto the duffel bag.

I go to stand up, but my head gets jerked back down.

My hair's stuck in the zipper now too.

You. Have. Got. To. Be. KIDDING ME!

"Ugh! Ella!"

I wait for a minute before my door opens and I see her brown haired head pop in, eyebrows raised as if to say "what do you need?"

She looks at me for a second trying to figure out what the heck is going on.

"I'm stuck."

She starts cracking up.

"Only you, Max," she says, then laughs again. "Only you."

"Would you just help me already?" I snap.

"Alright, alright." She starts towards me. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

A few minutes and a couple patches of missing hair later, my duffel is packed and sitting by my door, along with a smaller bag that has my shampoo, toothbrush, deodorant, blah, blah, blah.

Ella and I are sitting on my bed, her smiling slightly, and me worrying over my newly acquired bald spots. Now, I don't care much about my appearance, but that doesn't mean that I want to be bald.

"Max, quit worrying. You're not bald. It was only a few pieces of hair."

A few pieces! More like a few patches!

"Hey," she says, smiling. "I know what'll cheer you up! Just think of all the fun you'll have packing your bag back up when you leave camp."

I groan and fall back onto my pillows.

After changing positions for the millionth time, I throw the blankets off in frustration and sit up. I get up and shuffle to my door, arms out in front of me so that I don't hit anything.

But I guess having my arms out is pointless when all they hit is air, and my feet seem to stumble on anything and everything possible. I even trip over the carpet once. Don't ask me how. I'm just talented.

I finally find the door and I open it slowly, slipping out.

I resume my slow undead shuffle, going towards the stairs.

_Maybe I should turn on the hallway light_, I think absently. You see, the stairs and I have this on-going feud. They like to trip me up and I yell at them and stomp on them because of it. I may have a slight temper.

Suddenly my right foot slides forward. I land on my butt at the top of the stairs, one leg bent and sitting behind me, the other stretched out in front of me on the stairs. Cursing under my breath, I stand up and stumble down the rest of the stairs.

I use the walls to guide me to the kitchen. I flip the light switch.

Midnight snack time.

I check all the usual places: the pantry, the cupboards, and my secret candy stash. Psh, like I'm going to tell you where it is. That's why it's called a secret.

I don't usually check the fridge unless I know there's something in there that I want. Because what's in the fridge most of the time requires me to cook it. And that never turns out well.

I set my finds on the counter. Mac 'n Cheese, granola bars, bread, and an empty pop tart box.

_My pop tarts! My hot fudge sundae pop tarts! _**(A/N love these)**

Ella. She always eats my pop tarts.

So, there's no pop tarts. And I'm not going to eat the granola bars.

That leaves Mac 'n Cheese and bread. I could use the bread for grilled cheese, but I'm not sure how well that would turn out. The kitchen might be gone by the time I was done.

The only other thing I could think to make with bread would be toast, and the last time I tried to make toast… well, let's just say the kitchen did _not_ look the same when I was done with it and my mother was not happy.

So I guess I get to attempt to make Mac 'n Cheese. This'll be fun. Not.

I grab the box and quickly scan the instructions.

Okay. That doesn't seem too hard. I can do this.

I grab a pot from the cupboard and the milk and butter from the fridge. I turn the cold water on, filling up the pot. I dump the noodles in. Then I pour in the milk and toss in the butter and cheese powder. I turn the burner on low.

After about five minutes of pacing, I get tired of waiting. So, I turn the burner to high and go grab my ipod.

(Lala by the cab)

_Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oooh [x2]_

_Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oooh _

_Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oooh_

I start dancing, moving across the kitchen and mumbling the lyrics under my breath.

_Come feel my heart _

_It's beating like a drum and I confess_

_When you're around_

_It's like an army's marching through my chest_

_And there's nothing I can do_

_I just gravitate towards-_

I gasp when I see the stove. Water and milk are spilling out of the pot. Every burner except one is covered in bubbling milk-water.

I stop dancing and run to the stove, my socks slipping all over the tile floor.

I quickly turn the stove off. I grab a paper towel and go to wipe off the burner. All I manage to do is burn the paper towel and my hand, and get the paper towel stuck to the stove.

I guess I get to attempt to make grilled cheese.

I won't bore you with the details, but I'll just say all that's left of my grilled cheese is a crispy black blob stuck to the bottom of the pan.

I can't get the grilled cheese out of the pan or the Mac 'n Cheese (if you could even call it that) out of the pot, so I just stick everything in the sink. I try to get the paper towel and mac 'n cheese- milk- water stuff off the stove but I just get more paper towels stuck to the stove.

Sighing, I grab the box of granola bars and head up to my room.

_Note to self: marry a chef._

I am not happy. And that's an understatement.

Mom is telling me all the details about the camp.

Apparently, I'm going to be staying for three weeks. Three weeks! Ugh.

When I said "What about school?" you know what she told me?!

She said that I would be taking classes there!

"And," she continues. "The bus will be here at 7:45. It's 7:43 now." Ugh. I can't believe I'm up this early. "Or if you want I could drive you. You don't have to take the bus."

I don't respond.

"I'm going to go make breakfast while you decide," she says and starts toward the kitchen.

Oh no.

I hear something between a gasp and a dying-animal-groan come from the kitchen.

"MAX!"

I hear the squeal of the bus's breaks and glance out one of the windows by the door. Perfect timing.

"I'll take the bus!" I shout. "Bye, Mom! Love you!"

I turn around and see Ella coming down the stairs.

"Bye Ells," I say, wrapping her in a quick hug. "Love you."

"Maximum Ride!" I hear Mom's voice, accompanied by the sound of her angry walk.

"That's my que."

I grab my duffel, dashing out the door and across the lawn. I hop on the bus, picking the bench in the back that spans the length of the whole back wall. I put in my ear buds and prepare for one looong trip.


	3. Chapter 3

**I realize I haven't done a disclaimer in my previous chapters. I'm not sure if they're required or anything but you can never be too sure. So, I don't own Maximum Ride. Obviously. **

I wake with a start, letting out a small snore. I wipe the drool off my chin. Gross.

I look around and see everybody getting their bags and getting off the bus. We must be here. Funny how you always seem to wake up right when you get to where you're going.

I pull the headphones out of my ears and put my ipod in my sweatshirt pocket.

I grab my bags and make my way off the bus. I stand at the edge of the crowd of teens as the bus drives off.

I look around and get a good look at the prison I'll be staying at for the next three weeks.

Behind me, grassy fields go on for miles before turning to evergreen trees and snow covered mountains. To my right is a small log cabin which I assume is the office. Behind the office and slightly to the side sits another cabin, this one larger. Directly in front of me are two long cabins, with plenty of windows. In between the two cabins is another much bigger one. To the left of the three is another smaller cabin and a shed next to that. The shed isn't made of logs like all the others. It is old and falling apart. It's probably a maintenance shed. And behind it all is a huge field, complete with a dirt track.

From behind me I hear someone clear their throat.

I turn around to find a boy standing there. He has shaggy black hair and dark tan skin. He's wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. I have to admit, he's pretty hot. Ok, Ok, _really_ hot. But you didn't hear it from me.

"You dropped that," he says in a deep voice, nodding toward the ground. His lips are slightly turned up at the edges, and he has an amused look on his face.

What's so funny?

I look down to see a small pile of clothes. I glance at my duffel and I realize that it's partially unzipped. My gaze shifts back to the clothes on the ground and I almost choke.

In the pile is a tank top, a t-shirt, and… a bra. _My_ bra. Right on top!

I feel my cheeks burn.

I quickly snatch the clothes and turn and walk away as I frantically shove them in my bag and zip it up.

"Listen up, delinquents!"

I turn my head at the sound of the deep, commanding voice.

Standing in front of the group of teens is a man. He is tall and looks to be in his forties. He has cropped grey hair and muscular tan arms. He wears camo pants and a grey wife-beater, with tan army boots on his feet. He stands tall and rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I am General Hans. You will refer to me as such. When speaking to me you will reply with 'yes, sir.' You will refrain from speaking without being spoken to. Now, breakfast is at 6:00. You will be up by 5:30, beds made, shoes shined, and ready to work. Lunch is at 12:30, and Dinner is at 7:00. You will each be given schedules to refer to as to what you will be doing between meals. Curfew is at 8:00. If you are not in your rooms by then, you will sleep outside. Failure to comply with the rules and regulations will result in punishment. Is this clear?"

Nobody says anything.

"I said 'IS THIS CLEAR?'"

The group of teens (not including me, of course) stumble over their tongues in their haste to get out their 'yes, sirs.'

He gives a nod of approval. "Good."

Then he turns to his left, to the woman standing there. I hadn't noticed her until now.

She has wavy, long blonde hair and blue eyes. She is holding a clipboard.

"You can take it from here, Tess."

The woman, Tess, nods. "Yes, of course, sir."

The general walks off, disappearing inside the cabin behind the office.

"Alright," Tess says. "I'm only going to call your name once, so pay attention." She looks down at her clipboard. "Room 218: Sam Nicholes, Jason Knoll, Kent Thorn, Ben K…"

The girls' rooms are in the long building on the left, and the boys' in the one on the right. I have room 125.

It doesn't take me long to find my room. I have a key but the door's already unlocked. I turn the knob and walk in.

It's a simple room, relatively small. There is a bed on each wall, save the one with the door. There's only one window, on the far wall. The walls are a dark sandy color and the floors are wood.

The beds are simple and wooden, with two drawers built into the bottom and matching nightstands. Two of the beds are empty, but the one to my right is occupied.

There's a girl sitting there. She has dark skin and curly brown hair. She's siting on the bed, facing away from me and talking on the phone.

Unlike the rest of the plain, dark room, the corner she occupies looks like a unicorn threw up. She has a bright pink comforter with alternating pink and white pillows. Her bed is covered in magazines and nail polish. Her purple suitcase sits on the floor, clothes spilling out. She must have attempted putting some of her clothes away, because both drawers are overflowing with clothes too.

I hear her gasp. "He did? When? What did you say? You said yes, right? I mean, of course you said yes. You'd be stupid not to." she says, speaking to the person on the other end of the phone. She pauses, waiting while the person responds. "Yay! I have the _perfect_ dress for you. You can borrow it. It's this really pretty midnight blue color. Even though midnight isn't really blue. It's more of a black. Plus, it's kinda speckled. You know, because of the stars?" She gasps. "That's it! Star! Amanda, you're a genius! See, May just got a dog, and she didn't know what to name her. I said I didn't know either."

_I'm sure that's not all she said_, I think to myself.

"But Star would be the perfect name. She's a border collie. And she's really fluffy and super sweet. She's only a puppy, so she has a ton of energy. I wish I had that much energy. Hey, what do you think it would be like to be a dog? I think it would be fun. You could play fetch and run around. And you could take a nap whenever you want. And you wouldn't have to go to school! But then there's that whole going to the bathroom outside thing. But, I mean, come on, no school? I swear school is pointless. I bet teachers just want to torture us, so they say we need to go to school to learn just to get our parents to agree and they-"

My ears are bleeding. I clear my throat and cut her off before I lose too much blood.

She stops talking and turns around.

"Got to go, 'Manda," she says, hanging up and tossing her pink bedazzled phone onto the bed. Then she lets out a high pitched shriek.

I almost cringe. I think I just went def.

She runs over and gives me a hug.

"Omg," she says, releasing me. "You must be my room-mate! I'm Monique, but call me Nudge."

"I'm Max," I say before she can say any more. "These taken?" I motion behind me to the other beds.

"Nope."

I walk over to the bed by the window and drop my stuff on the ground. I flop onto the bed.

"So," I start. "What are you here for?"

She sits on the edge of my bed.

"Well, I don't always get the best grades. I mean, I'm not stupid, I just have trouble concentrating. So, I may have, um, hacked the principal's computer and changed my grades. A few times. But I never got caught until recently."

I look at her and raise my eyebrows. "I never would have guessed. You just don't look like you-"

"I know. So, what about you?"

I sigh. "I don't exactly have good grades either. And I get into fights occasionally. Ok, more than occasionally. More like constantly. Anyway, I got into a fight a couple days ago, and my report card came the same day. Needless to say, my mom was not happy."

"Ouch," she says.

"Yeah."

We both look over as the door opens.

A girl walks in. She has rosy pink cheeks and pretty blue eyes. Her face is framed in white-blonde hair set in perfect ringlets. In one hand she holds the handle of her wheeled suitcase. She holds a pillow under her other arm.

"Hi." She smiles. "I'm Angel."

**Sorry. That's a really crappy ending, but I didn't want to go through boring introductions again.**

**Thanks for reading, guys. Let me know what you think.**


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